Letter to My Husband Who Died Suddenly by Felice Aull
I want to tell you about your death because I feel some guilt about the final events of that night. I have repressed the guilt in order to keep living but I nee...
I want to tell you about your death because I feel some guilt about the final events of that night. I have repressed the guilt in order to keep living but I nee...
But I only knew the mechanics of sex, not its consequences. Who does at thirteen?
Soon enough it’s clear he’s hellbent on spreading the rumor he fucked you—or is it fact? You’re a 13-year-old freshman who drank a pint of Southern Comfort, bla...
My mom tells me that I can choose who can come to my party. I can choose who can have cake. Tomorrow when I turn thirteen I will tell her that he can’t come to ...
He was a lurker, an expert lurker, my grandfather. He lurked in the dark, and during the day he lurked in empty corners. My earliest memory is of him, sitting o...
[su_note]A big shout out to everyone who has had the courage to write and submit their recovery story. The Finalists have been selected and will be announced on...
It starts with blood. Mine. So red and stickysweet that my jean shorts catch to my chair in band class. This is womanhood spilling over, me tying a sweatshirt a...
I left the seminary upon my conclusion that God was both a psychopath and a myth, and Christ had never existed. I saw no future for a priest who was an atheist.
My husband and I have pushed the limits of our whiteness with the treatments we’ve gotten for this dog. Jake, the dog, is a proud of owner of what is called a “...
The ex-Catholic in me keeps repeating the words “mortal sin” and the day is filled with unimaginable annoyances. Considering myself an empath and being so compl...
My newly developed curves seemed to give me a dangerous power over my father and other men, which troubled me because I couldn’t seem to discern its appropriate...
Before surgery, a rabbity young man in a white jacket hurried by and put his hand down the front of my dress, then bustled away. On my gurney to the OR, a chatt...
Many years later, when Grandpa followed her into the abyss, I'm convinced that he whistled for her and she reached out to him.
My room was the base of operations for Dad’s drug dealing enterprise, a career he must have selected—I imagine in hindsight—to sustain his life as a musician
At 6, I suddenly knew I was adopted by the telling of a fairy tale. Not only did I belong to my parents, but also someone else! The myth of the adoption agenc...
Watch and listen as Storyteller Sandy Schuman takes you on a delightful audiovisual journey to his father's 1936 Manhattan, where unions are formed, while men's...
What I care about are the relationships and activities that feed my resilience, stretch my gratitude and help me love harder in the time I have left. I feel mys...
We are fortunate, I keep telling myself. Dennis has chronic leukemia, a rare type called LGL. I barely remember the initial shock the first time the oncologist ...
I sit out in the chill wet evening, all the roses are dead on the bushes, waiting and hoping and knowing, here we are at last and so soon.
As part of our ongoing commitment to nurturing the voices of marginalized groups and writers of color, Memoir Magazine is sponsoring a free online memoir class ...